What a Knife Night
by desertredwolf
Summary: Life is never dull for medical school students and friends, Hermione and Neville. One eventful night in the emergency room leads to some insane stories for the both of them. MuggleDoctors!AU. Written for QLFC; Season 5, Round 12. Chaser 3 for Puddlemere United. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I also took some inspiration from New Girl (another thing I don't own). It's not a crossover, but New Girl fans might recognize a certain drinking game. (I'm also kind of making fun of Quidditch and how it doesn't make much sense … enjoy!) All rights go to respective owners.**

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 **Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition / Season Five, Round 12**

 **Team:** Puddlemere United

 **Position:** Chaser 3

 **Prompt:** Pair Them Up: Hermione and Neville. Write about two characters in a school/peers relationship.

 **Bonus Prompts:**

4\. (word) name

12\. (scenario) a Quidditch accident

14\. (word) fix

 **Word Count (not including story title and author's notes):** 1986 (Google Docs)

 **A/N — This is a Muggle Doctor! AU.**

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 **What a Knife Night**

"I'm sorry, Neville, but I can't study today. I have to get ready for my graveyard rotation at the hospital."

Hermione smiled apologetically at her friend, who effortlessly grinned back. Their relationship went back at least eight years — all the way back to their freshman year in undergrad. She had tutored him through chemistry, and he had kept her supplied with the best herbal tea in the world. Where Hermione was more high-strung and bossy, Neville was easy going. She excelled in lectures and tests; Neville beat her scores on the practical side of things. Despite the differences, they balanced each other out.

They had been each other's support through thick and thin — through years of tears and frustration in medical school. Hermione wouldn't trade him for anything.

"It's alright," he replied. "I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to go out and get drinks with me, Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Ron. It's about time you got a night out."

Hermione grimaced in distaste. While she enjoyed chatting with the guys, it seemed like she would be the odd one out in this situation. She found that things got a little crazy when they were all together; she would have rather had a quiet night in with her roommate, or even just her books.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Neville," she replied. "But it sounds … fun, though. Try not to get into too much trouble."

"Me? I think you have me confused with Harry," Neville replied dryly. "But I will, all the same. Try not to get to angry at that one woman who keeps coming in for narcotics … what's her name, again?"

"Lestrange," Hermione supplied. "Do you really think she'll come in, though? We told her last time that we would have the police escort her out. Do you really think she'll come back?"

"Do you honestly think it's likely she'd change?"

"…You have it so much easier in the NICU."

.oOo.

"Mrs. Lestrange—"

"It's Bellatrix! Now give me drugs!"

Hermione Granger, one of the medical school assistants, forced herself to remain professional and not roll her eyes. It was the sixth time _this week_ that this crazy woman was in the emergency room begging for narcotics. Honestly, Lestrange acted like the world revolved around her, and that Hermione should just _give in_ to her demands.

There was only so much she could take.

" _Mrs. Lestrange_ , I am not giving you narcotics. The doctor is not giving you narcotics. Now, if you could just sign these papers—"

"But I'm in pain!" the older woman shrieked. Another patient in a nearby bed — a young boy with blue hair — snickered. Hermione shot him a quick glare, and his grandmother smacked the back of his head.

 _You're a pain in my ass, Lestrange_ , Hermione thought fiercely. And really, if one thought about the situation, that was a _kind_ way of phrasing it.

"According to science and medicine, you are not in pain," Hermione said through gritted teeth. She was quickly losing control of the situation … again. Admitting defeat to herself, she nodded to the police officer and her supervisor, both of whom were standing off to the side. They quickly walked up.

"But—"

"As we have informed you already," Dr. Wallace, a stern, incredibly hard-to-please woman and Hermione's supervisor, briskly stated, "there is no medical reason for you to receive pain medication. The officer will be speaking with you, after you are discharged." She turned and looked at Hermione, as if silently prompting her for the aforementioned discharge papers.

Quickly picking up on the hint, Hermione fumbled through her stack of paperwork, before handing over the requested items. Dr. Wallace looked them over.

"Thank you, Granger. Check in with Brennan at the desk for your next patient."

Translation: _Adequate. Go find the next patient the doctors and residents don't want to deal with, and wait to be observed. We don't trust you with a toothbrush._

"Yes, Dr. Wallace," she murmured. As she walked back to the desk, she could hear Lestrange begin to argue with the police officer.

This was her last semester of medical school. She was almost done. So very soon, the days of scut work to earn clinical hours for medical school would be replaced with residency. The idea of residency had a shiny halo of magical wonder around it — at least, that's how she imagined it. In reality, it would just be slightly more glorified scut work.

But at least she would be able to do _something_.

"Granger!"

She snapped out of her daydreams and focused on the surgeon in front of her. Thomas Brennan was smirking at her, while holding out another file. Grimacing, she took the folder. Brenan was — oh, how had Susan phrased it? — "a slimy man-whore that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole, even if my life depended on it." Hermione had been shocked that her normally gentle roommate had said that, but in the end she really couldn't argue with the description.

"You'll _enjoy_ this one," Brennan said, pleasing far too much emphasis on the word 'enjoy.'

"Oh?" Hermione replied, trying to sound nonchalant. She opened the folder and froze when she saw the name. _Oh for the love of—_

"Don't worry, it's an easy fix," he said mockingly. "Wallace already removed the knife! Just check the stitching, replace the bandages, go over care instructions, and have them sign the discharge paperwork. I think we can trust you to do this on your own."

Nodding, Hermione turned and walked away without a word. Heading down the row of beds, she quickly made her way to the last one. Pushing aside the curtains around the bed, she glared at the occupant.

"I leave you alone for _two seconds_ , and _this_ happens?"

Neville grinned sheepishly up at her. Hermione quickly took stock of the situation: black right eye; a cut on the left cheek, held together with a few sturdy butterfly bandages; stitches on his right bicep; and surrounded by four of their mutual male friends.

All four of whom were incredibly drunk.

"Hello, Hermione," Neville said in an attempt to sound cheerful. It was an admirable effort, only ruined by the grimace from being in pain. "How are you doing tonight?" Seamus and Dean snorted, while Ron outright laughed. Harry had the decency to _try_ and look ashamed.

"Better than you, it seems," she replied, exasperatedly. "Now, _what_ happened?"

"Well, you see it was—"

" _A Quidditch accident!_ " Ron proclaimed, leading to the other three laughing again. Hermione rolled her eyes. This was one of those moments that made her so happy she never tried dating the redhead.

"A what accident?" she said slowly. She already felt the headache coming, and they hadn't even started their explanation yet.

"We w-wen' out to get a drink," Harry tried helpfully explaining. "An' then Neville got stabbed! _By the ground!_ "

"I feel like I'm missing some important details," Hermione said dryly. Seamus opened his mouth, probably to try and explain, but she cut him off.

"Neville, what happened? And what the hell is _Quidditch_?"

"It's a drinking game Seamus and Dean made up on the way to the bar," Neville replied. Hermione felt her eye twitch. "Honestly, it was just a series of unfortunate events that led to this."

"And what does this drinking game involve, exactly?" she asked hesitantly.

"Well, I don't know too much about it," he replied, "since I was only kind of playing. Not that it makes much of a difference, since even semi-participants risk getting injured. Anyway, _apparently_ it's like basketball, but with drinking."

"And with multiple hoops!" Seamus shouted right next to Ron's ear. The redhead flinched and punched the other man's arm.

"See," Dean said, "it's all about the goals. You earn goals by taking shots of different alc-alc- drinks with different proofs. Higher proof means more points! After certain shots, though, you have to do three different types chasers. And if anyone calls out " _Bludger_ ," you have to swap shot glasses with someone on the other team. Oh … and there are teams, too."

"Right…" Hermione said. She pulled on a pair of gloves and began efficiently examining Neville's stitches. Half-listening to the insane story they were telling her, she went about her work.

"Don't forget the disappearing ref rules!" Seamus whispered loudly. Ron nodded enthusiastically; Harry smacked his hand to his forehead.

"Do I want to know?" Hermione asked Neville sarcastically, who just grinned at her.

"If anyone shouts " _Where's the ref?_ " all game rules are ignored," Seamus said, taking Hermione's question as she really wanted to know. "The only way to earn points then is to find someone to do body shots with."

"Stop. Just … _stop_ ," Hermione said, as she moved to systematically replacing Neville's bandages. "What do you mean? There are actually rules?"

"I don't know about rules," Neville murmured, "but apparently there's over 700 ways to break them. Which just involves taking penalty shots."

"An' the … the first person to seduce the bartender," Seamus slurred, "and get a free drink wins! _And_ they get 150 points!"

 _Oh my god._

"The points don't really matter," Neville explained wryly, anticipating Hermione's question.

"So what happened to you?" she asked. "No one's explained that yet."

"Well," he replied, "Harry was taunting Ron, by making him think he was hitting up the woman who was bartending and going to win, when Seamus called " _Where's the ref?_ " Dean called foul, saying that refs can only disappear once a game and Seamus already said that. Dean said Seamus had to take ten penalty shots — of water. He called it the "Sahara Desert" penalty. They got upset, only to find Ron "won" by getting a free drink from the _other_ bartender. Seamus went to punch Dean, but elbowed me in the face. I fell to the ground and landed on a small knife that someone had dropped there probably fifty years ago. The cut on the cheek is from hitting a chair on the way down to the ground. And that's how I won the game of Quidditch."

"Wait … _what?_ " Hermione exclaimed. "That makes no sense! I thought you weren't really playing."

"That's what I said!" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, they all forgot something important," Neville replied. "I was kind of participating … just not drinking absurd amounts. I was making sure they didn't do something stupid … I blocked a lot of ideas these guys thought up. But remember: To win the game, you have to both seduce the bartender _and_ get a free drink from them. I had been chatting up the _third_ bartender all night. She really liked me — thought I was amazing for wanting to specializing in the NICU as a doctor. After the accident, she gave me a free shot. Hannah — that's her name, by the way — and I are going on a date next week. She says I'm a keeper."

"Well," Hermione said, pulling off her gloves, "please don't play Quidditch in the future. And you idiots," she said, snapping at the other men in the room, "drink responsibly in the future! It's not just your well-being that's in danger when you are reckless and irresponsible."

She handed Neville care instructions and discharge papers. "Any questions?"

"Nope," Neville said with a grin. Signing the papers, he handed them back to her. "I'll see you in school tomorrow? We could study for finals after Immunology."

"If you don't die on the way home," she replied with a small fond smile. "I wouldn't miss it. Take care, Neville."

Turning around, she saw Dr. Wallace thoughtfully watching her from across the room. The older woman didn't say anything; she just nodded at Hermione with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Translation: _Not bad, Granger. Not bad at all._

 _Still wouldn't trust you with a toothbrush._

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 **A/N2 — Thank you** **, Kat (roseusvortex), for betaing!**


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